


I Find you all Unwoven

by aGoldenSpikeHell



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Heartbroken Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28438527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aGoldenSpikeHell/pseuds/aGoldenSpikeHell
Summary: Geralt was familiar with guilt, he knew its smell and ache, he knew how to bear it, but this was hitting him differently. He used to know a lively and bright person, chatty and quick, in love with life and everything in it, fierce and bubbly but whoever was sitting on that stool at the end of the bar was the very opposite of all that.Geralt is going to Oxenfurt for a contract, he stops by an inn when he recognizes a certain song.His first meeting with a still heart-broken Jaskier doesn't go as planned.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 125





	I Find you all Unwoven

**Author's Note:**

> I was sad, so I decided to make myself even sadder, yay me! 
> 
> Title comes from The Rockrose and the Thistle.  
> I kinda wrote this in a rush so I'm sorry for all the mistakes, English is not my first language.

There was music coming from inside the tavern, it was not Jaskier's voice hitting the notes but the lyrics were his, Geralt recalled them. It was a weird experience, more so because he knew Jaskier was here. He recognized the unique mix of flowers, lavender and honey that made up the bard's scent, he'd never get that wrong, it was hard to forget. So Jaskier was here, and so was the music, how strange he was not playing it.

If he were asked why, Geralt couldn't explain why he decided to enter. Last time he saw the bard was almost a year ago, and too much time passed to try and mend something he broke. And yet, he couldn't resist. The moment he caught that flowery scent he knew he had to see him, even from afar, even just for a second or two. It's been so long since the last time he saw him.

It took Geralt no longer than a minute to find Jaskier in the crowded inn, but something was off. Everything was off, to be honest. The black trousers and grey shirt were a weird sight on the bard. No colours or frilly shirts, no silk pants or lace doublets. He was sitting by himself, eyes lost in his mug, it almost seemed like he was trying to appear smaller, inconspicuous, invisible. 

He was not singing or playing, he was not talking with anyone, he wasn't trying to strike a conversation or catch anyone's eyes, he was there but he wasn't really there. That was not his bard. Something must have happened to him. That was not the man he used to know. _'You. You happened to him.'_ A cruel voice inside Geralt's head quickly supplied. Also, not his anymore.

Jaskier was like the middle of spring, when all the flowers start to bloom, the air is warm and filled with their scents, the nights are lighter and everything seemed a bit easier to bear. Now his eyes showed the end of autumn, when all the leaves fall from the dead trees, the nights are endless and even the days grow darker. There were no more flowers or light or sweet scents, there was nothing left. It physically hurts somewhere deep inside him to see Jaskier like that, it was painful for reasons he didn't know how to put into words.

Geralt was familiar with guilt, he knew its smell and ache, he knew how to bear it, but this was hitting him differently. He used to know a lively and bright person, chatty and quick, in love with life and everything in it, fierce and bubbly but whoever was sitting on that stool at the end of the bar was the very opposite of all that.

He observes from his corner at the back of the tavern, it's been months since he left Jaskier on the mountain after their stupid fight, and of all the times he wanted, needed, to see him again, this seemed almost unnatural. He's the last person the bard wants to see and yet Geralt feels compelled to call him, he's itching to say his name out loud and see the shadows dancing in the endless pool of ocean that were his blue eyes, he's craving to be close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin and hear him say his name, just once. Just once, like he always dreams about, as if the dragon hunt never happened. 

He spent so many days regretting the words he said on top of that cursed mountain, wishing for forgiveness, cause he could deal with Yen leaving, but losing Jaskier hurt in a different way. On the way back to where they set camp Geralt secretly hoped until the last minute to see him waiting with Roach at the edge of the woods, pouting and cursing at him, but all his things were gone.

The guy wearing Jaskier's face murmurs something to the maid, slips a few coins into her hand, and gets up. He wraps a thick cloak around his thinner frame, he has probably lost some weight, Geralt can't tell for sure. When he walks out of the tavern, he has to fight every instinct screaming at him to follow him. He sits still for a grand total of a full minute before losing that fight and rushing out, following the faint trace of lavender in the air.

Jaskier is just crossing the square when a dark shadow looms behind him. "Why did you follow me, Witcher?" He whispers softly while turning around. He slowly takes in the black-clad figure in front of him, the white messy hair, the golden eyes, the frown on his face and the fine layer of dust on his clothes. Geralt is exactly how he remembers him. Jaskier feels his betrayer heart jumping in his chest.

"How did you know...."Geralt begins to ask puzzled.

"I saw you at the tavern. I spent so long searching for your face in every crowd I started to think I was seeing things, but apparently I was right this time." Jaskier lowers his eyes and Geralt can't help but notice how tired he looks. The dark circle around his eyes threaten to swallow the sunlit blue sea with their purple hue, and he's so pale, his skin so white and washed out Geralt would almost suspect he was sick if he didn't know better. 

"I... You were not singing.” He knows it's stupid to say, but he can't ask any of the other questions on the tip of his tongue. 

Jaskier adjusts the cloak around himself, trying to keep the cold at bay. Geralt is yearning to trace the contours of his face, trail his fingers over his sharp cheekbones, or over his jaw, anything, he just needs a small touch, but he knows he can’t. "I don't do that anymore," Jaskier says.

"Why not?" His yellow eyes seem to widen for a moment at the implications of those words and he sees the pain flickering over the bard's beautiful features. Pain that Geralt put there himself. The ache inside of him burns fiercely. He wants to apologize, but he doesn’t know where to find the right words. He’s not even sure Jaskier would listen.

"Don't act like you care. I'm not the same person I was ten months ago. Besides, you hate my singing, you can barely stand my voice, what difference does it make to you?" Jaskier sighs, he feels drained and exhausted. Geralt was the last person he expected to see today. and the last he needed to see. Too long he spent trying to sew himself back together, too many tears were shed at every dream and every memory of their time together, too many little pieces of his heart were still refusing to stay put and make him whole. It all seemed in vain now that the Witcher was in front of him.

"That's not true," Geralt mumbles under his breath, clenching his hands at his side, resisting the urge to reach out for him. There must be something he could say to make Jaskier forgive him. 

"It's like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling. There's a word for that, in case you didn't know, and it's called disappointment. Now, why did you follow me out here? I don't think it was to tell me you suddenly like my voice cause we both know you don't and honestly, bit late for that, don't you think?" Geralt hears it in his voice that if Jaskier had enough strength left in him to be mad, he'd be furious. He briefly wonders how long he stayed angry before he gave up.

"I just thought...we could maybe....talk?" Jaskier’s laugh is bitter and hollow, empty as his eyes.

"Really Geralt? That's rich coming from you. Now you want to talk? You know what, no. No, you don't get to come here and tell me you want to talk after I spent ten gods forsaken months trying to forget you. Don't you fucking dare. Not like this. Now if there's something I can help you with, do say so. If not, spare us both this conversation, I'm not sure I’m in the mood to have my heart broken again."

Geralt knows he's right, but it still hurts to hear it from his voice. It takes him a moment for the words to sink in, it’s like his mind refuses the real meaning of them. He steels himself before saying "I'll leave you to your things then. Goodbye, Jaskier." And it’s harder than slaying any monster he ever encountered. For some messed up reasons, he thought Jaskier would be willing to talk to him, to give him a second chance he knows he hasn’t earned. It’s only fair that he doesn’t. 

"You were right." Geralt freezes in his spot when blue eyes search for his own golden ones. "You spent so much time trying to convince me to leave you alone and stop following you around and I never fucking listened. I realized you were right. Cause you, you got what you wanted, life, destiny, whatever, you had your sorceress and I'm finally off your hands, But what about me? That is why I wish...I wish I would have listened to you. Left. Before it was too late. Before having my heart broken."

Geralt doesn't miss how his voice breaks, he can taste the salt in the air from his unshed tears and he can't help but wonder how many times this precious human he loved cried because of him. Loves. He still loves him, even if he never knew how to show it. He stares at the black cloak trailing tiredly behind his companion, his best friend, his lover, and he knows he deserves the pain he feels for what he did to him. He whispers his poor apology to the wind, but nobody answers. He really wishes Witchers couldn't feel emotions.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this, have a happy new year!


End file.
